Danny's POV
The air in Chadwick’s office usually smelled like expensive mahogany and the kind of high end espresso that cost more than my weekly groceries. Today, it just smelled like ozone and a storm about to break.
I stood there, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my baggy black jeans. I could feel the fake mustache itching against my lip, and the black dye on my scalp felt tight, like a helmet.
"I will ask you one more time," Chadwick’s voice was a low, dangerous vibration. He was standing behind his desk, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the wood. "Why are you dressed like this? What is this... charade?"
"Because I can, Sir," I said. My voice sounded small in the high ceilinged room, but I kept my eyes locked on his. "It’s my hair. My face. My life."
"You will
